I smiled grimly. There was a veto against using the word ‘quiet’, its mere utterance being guaranteed to plunge the station into an explosion of activity, albeit generally affrays in Chesterfield and sheep on Snake Pass rather than serial murders.

‘Focus on your police work,’ I said. ‘We don’t know for sure that this is part of an ongoing pattern. Don’t assume it’s about the abattoir, or meat, or even that it’s connected to Violet. Cover all bases. At least we have a body. Forensics. Some chance in hell of finding who did this. We even have his phone, although it’s locked and we’re not in it yet.’

‘But it is starting to look more like somebody making … a point,’ Fiona said. ‘A body eaten by pigs, a body with a pig’s head mask on.’

‘And both people who supported the meat industry,’ Jai said.

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘The way they’ve been killed, if indeed Violet is dead, does seem to make a point.’

‘It is about meat, surely?’ Fiona said. ‘The Animal Vigilantes are protesting outside another abattoir today. Loads of them. All wearing meat suits and carrying placards with pigs’ heads on them.’

‘Oh God,’ I muttered.

Craig said, ‘Are you happy it’s not Gary now?’

‘This isn’t about point-scoring, Craig. It’s about finding whoever did this.’

‘Do you think they’re picking off people from that Great Meat Debate website?’ Fiona said. ‘Could Anna and Kirsty be in danger? And Daniel?’

‘Talk to them about protection,’ I said. ‘And we carry on investigating. We don’t assume Violet’s dead, although it’s probable. We don’t assume that Gary Finchley’s death is connected to Violet’s disappearance, although we accept it’s likely. Okay? And let’s crack on, because if someone is making a point, I doubt they’re finished.’

Gary Finchley’s wife, Mandy, was staying with a friend while her house was being taken apart. An elderly woman pulled open the door of the terraced cottage. ‘You’d better come in.’ She was wearing two pink cardigans despite the heat.

Walking into the cottage was like entering a fridge, and I heard Jai sigh with relief as we made our way into a dark hallway. Cardigan-woman’s attire started to make more sense. She ushered us into a tiny living room and disappeared.

Mandy was slumped on a worn green sofa in her dressing gown, so drained of life it looked like she might disappear. The child, Kelly, lay with her head on Mandy’s knee, face turned away from us, sobbing quietly. The dog was leaning into her, its upper lip curling whenever Jai or I made any movement.

We sat on a matching sofa opposite them. It was so small that Jai and I were squished together, thighs forced awkwardly close.